


All The King's Men

by Entropyrose



Category: Turn: Washington's Spies - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 13:57:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4394543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this moment, Edmund thought, he could have done without being dragged through the woods at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The King's Men

All The King's Men

At this moment, Edmund thought, he could have done without being dragged through the woods at night. His foot scraped against the inside of his right shoe and folded where his toe would have been just weeks earlier. That still hurt very much. That experience, however, had been beneficial in one way--he no longer dreaded the concept of death. In fact, he decided, if the outcome from this devious assault were to be the same, he might not at all mind doing himself in this time. The pain was what he feared. Death would be the easy part. 

He could hear the breaths of his captors, in fact one's face was so close he could feel the hot dampness of it right through the blindfold. As they dragged him through the dense leaves and fallen branches, he was careful to note the separate pitches of thier breaths by quieting his own. 

"Adams," He whispered harshly, "Who has put you up to this?" 

There was no reply. His boot jammed deep into a downed log and he stifled a sharp cry. The man on his right squeezed down onto his arm and jerked him forward. 

He tried again. "Pearce? We just sat down to supper last week, you and I. Come now, man!"

At last he heard the rattle of reigns and heavy hoofed feet. Then up, up they went on a steep enbankment, the rocks beneath his feet rolling around and causing the men on both sides, Edmund thought, to nearly tear his arms right out of thier sockets. Horses would mean rest, he hoped. It would mean a chance to quiet his throbbing, maimed foot, and to search for a way out. His hands had been tied crudely in double-overhand fashion, which he knew well how to get out of. If only he could have a bit of movement to free his arms...

One of them grabbed his leg and hoisted him, belly-flat, onto the back of the horse before he, too, mounted. 

The ride was long and winding, though Edmund tried to memorize each turn as he frantically worked to free his hands. There was no point in pleading---the boorish abduction had the signature of one man...

"Captain Simcoe!" Edmund landed abruptly on his posterior when tossed from the horse. He pulled down the crudely wrapped blindfold to his chin and glared at his nemesis. 

Simcoe approached with a slow saunter, his perfecly poised lips curled up into a grin. "Gentlemen, you have forgotten training." He addressed Edumund's two "escorts", and Edumund could now see that he had been correct on at least one of the perpetrators. "This is no way to treat a Commanding Officer."

A pause. 

"Help him up!" His soldiers scrambled to bring Edmund to his feet. "There. Now isn't that better?" 

At last Simcoe's eyes came to rest upon Edmund's. "My sincerest apologies, Major Hewlett. But I'm afraid there was no other way to bring you out of the path of certain danger." 

Edmund's brows furled. "What are you talking about?" He did nothing to hide his disgust for the murdering cur who stood before him. 

"I'm afraid we have recieved rather unsettling news," Simcoe explained. 

Edmund's eyes surveyed the scene behind the Captain. A clearing in the woods, perfectly circular, concealing a small camp for an army of a hundred, by his estimate. A smouldering campfire burned in the center of the Camp, and directly behind the Captain stood a lavishly draped tent, complete with the Crown of England, and the shields of both Queen's Rangers and the British Royal Army. 

"Trusted sources confirm that Washington's men are marching to Setauket as we speak." 

"You fool!" Edmund spat out. "If this is true, we should both be out at the field at this very moment preparing for war!" 

"Not to worry." Simcoe placed a gloved hand on Hewlett's shoulder. With hands that were still half-bound, the Major immediately shoved it away. "Oh dear," Simcoe exclaimed. "That won't do at all." He grabbed both of Major Hewlett's wrists, pulling him so close that Hewlett could smell his breath. With eyes still locked onto him, Simcoe easily slid his fingers through the loops and released Hewlett's hands. 

Hewlett wrung his wrists. "My men are without a commander, Simcoe! I haven't any time to argue! If what you say is true, we should leave for Setauket right now!" Hewlett's thoughts immediately went to Anna, who would still be in the town, unaware of the coming danger. The Major was concerned for the entire town, of course---the people who were put in his care--but for Anna most of all. She would be in the most danger, as he saw it--knowing her willfull nature and her passionate loyalty to the Crown...surely she would rush into danger! Hewlett turned and began heading back towards the horse that had brought him. He did not trust Simcoe, not for a pebble, but he was not going to chance anything. Besides, his most immediate concern was fleeing. He could do nothing for the town as long as he was being held by Simcoe, whatever Simcoe's reasoning. 

"That will not be neccesery," The Captain called after him. Immediately a soldier stood in his path. One of Simcoe's puppets. Major Hewlett felt a flash of sympathy for the young man standing before him. He watched his empty gaze, knowing that he was being brainwashed and perfectly conditioned to do Simcoe's bidding. "Please, Major. Stay a while." 

The interior of the tent was furnished with a large walnut desk, meeting table, and a bed with wroght iron bars. It was safe to say the major had seen nothing of this caliber on the battlefields of America. The room glowed brighly with tall pillar candles and an oil lamp hung from the center---all the comforts of a proper british home. "I will know why you are holding me." Major Hewlett ground his teeth together, attempting to sound both formidable and unimpressed at the same time. 

"Do you like it?," Simcoe asked, closing the tassled flaps of the tent. "I thought a place of war strategy should feel...welcoming." 

Hewlett swallowed hard, suddenly finding his throat very dry. 

"Ah!" Simcoe flitted to the desk, lifting a bottle of aged brandy. "Thirsty?"

Hewlett's eyes fluttered. "I...I don't understand. Captain, we need to be on our way. Andre's forces are not enough and we should use everything we've got..." 

"Shhhh....." Simcoe raised a finger to Hewlett's lips and raised a glass full of brandy. "Take a sip." 

Hewlett's lips parted and he obligued, grasping the glass and slowly partaking of the fiery drink. He winced, looked away, hid a cough and nodded. 

Simcoe's ever-present smile widened. "Have you ever looked into the eyes of a doe before taking her life?"

A shiver rushed down the Major's spine. "Pardon..?"

Simcoe's approach became slower, more deliberate. He towered over the Major, casting a heavy, black shadow over him. "Her eyes are glassy--they glisten dimly. She knows not how close she is to death." The space separating the two men was closing in. "She simply...breathes." Simcoe's gloved thumb swept up and across the Major's throat. 

Hewlett steeled his gaze. There was no planned attack on Setauket. Washington's best men were miles away by daylight of the day prior. It would take them at least three days, even if the information was true. "You enjoy the sound of your own voice, Captain."

Simcoe turned back to the desk, pulling his gloves off, finger by finger. 

"Listen to me you bull-headed ingrate," Hewlett lashed, "I am done with your games. I have had enough of your threats!" 

"Harsh words to say to your protector, Major." 

"Stop the lies! There is no planned attack!" 

"O-indeed, Major?" Simcoe turned back to face his rival, unclasping the belt from around his chest. "Yet here you are. And I..." Simcoe spread out his arms. "Your savior." 

Hewlett's eyes narrowed. "How is your wound, John?" 

Simcoe launched himself at Hewlett, and both men crashed to the ground. Hewlett brought his hands up to Simcoe's neck, squeezing with everything he had. The flaps of the tent opened and soliders began pouring in. "NO!" Simcoe shouted. "He is MINE!" Hewlett wrapped his good leg around Simcoe's as Simcoe brought a fist down into Hewlett's face. 

Reluctantly, the soliders cleared the tent, and the flap closed behind. 

"Still weak from your "great ordeal", I see." Hewlett taunted. 

"YES," Simcoe hissed in his ear. "Weak with desire." 

In a flash Simcoe spun Hewlett onto his stomach. Despite the carpeted dirt, the ground was cold and hard, and the rocks under the fabric pushed up into Hewlett's ribs. He cried out from the pain, and Simcoe forced fingers into his mouth. "Shhhh," He whispered into his ear. "They don't need to know. This is just for us." 

Hewlett bit down until he tasted blood. Simcoe put his weight down on Hewlett, forcing him down further into the jagged surface. With a metal-tipped boot, he crushed Hewlett's injured foot, sending up a cry unmatched by all Hewlett's time in the hands of the Rebel enemies. "What---are you speaking of?" Hewlett gasped. 

"Shall I show you?" Simcoe flipped Hewlett easily onto his back, grinding him into the ground and kissing him harshly. His breath was surprisingly sweet, his lips soft. Hewlett thought instantly of what a woman's kiss felt like, of what Anna's lips would feel like. 

"Stop this," Hewlett pulled thier mouths apart. "If you're going to kill me just kill me. But do not humiliate me."

Simcoe's look hardened. "I should think that---" 

Simcoe distracted, Hewlett used the fraction of a second to roll out of Simcoe's reach. As Simcoe jumped to his feet, he called for his soldiers who were blocking Hewlett's way. Hewlett had but a moment to react. Whether or not Simcoe meant to kill him, he would not suffer this humiliation at the hands of such a disgusting, despicable...He pulled a pistol from the belt of Henley Grey, one of his former house servants, now a part of the Queen's Rangers. He cocked it, and aimed directly behind him at Simcoe's head. 

Simcoe stared at the barrel pointed at his forehead. "Well done, Major." Simcoe was out of breath. Hewlett looked back at him. 

"You will let me leave." His voice was barely a whisper. "And never let me see your face in Setauket again." 

Simcoe slowly raised his hands, blood trailing down one set of fingers. "Of course." He dipped his head in a mock-bow as Hewlett backed his way out of the gathered crowd of soldiers. 

Hewlett tried to follow Simcoe's gaze as he glanced at someone behind him, but it was too late. 

Everything went black. 

***************  
It was in an orchard in England. A lovely apple orchard, with all the trees in bloom. Cotton blowing in the soft breeze, a children's laughter echoing in the wind. This is where Hewlett spent his time, while enduring the cold nights of his captivity, naked with only an animal skin to fight back against the bitter cold. 

His mind would take him back to those lovely spring days; studying the works of the Greats, reciting plays, wooing girls with sonnets . Stopping off at the baker's for a piece of bread to occupy himself on the walk home. Running to hide from the rain. When everything was fresh and new. When he was only... Edmund.

He stretched his sore limbs lazily, feeling the crisp, cool feel of blankets beneath him, a soft feather-bed supporting his aching body. Cradling it. 

His eyes flew open and he attempted to sit up in the bed, fell back down. He looked from his left to his right side--both wrists were tied tightly with cloth cords. His feet were sticking out from the sheets, his maimed foot freshly bandaged. He wanted to scream---he wanted to fall back to sleep and return to the Orchard in his mind. 

His eyes frantically surveyed the room---a lone soldier, in Ranger uniform, noticed him and knocked on the door. It opened a crack. "He's up. You can tell the Captain." 

Through blurred vision, Hewlett observed light streaming in from the single window.

It was morning. 

"Thank you, Adams." The familiar voice came from the other side of the door. Hewlett squeezed his eyes shut. 

The Holy Mother of God, no!

The door opened. Footsteps exchanged. Then the door closed. Then latched. 

He could hear the steps coming closer, until they stopped by the bedside. "I did but look and love awhile, twas but for one half hour, Then to resist I had no will, and now I have no power." 

"Otway's 'The Enchantment'," Hewlett whispered. 

"Precisely," Simcoe said. 

Hewlett's eyes opened to stare into his rival's. Simcoe, for once, was silent. The face Hewlett peered into was not that of the person he encountered last night. Such was Simcoe---a volitile mix of hatred and passion. "Let me go." 

"Not yet." 

Simcoe's kiss was open this time, his lips sweet, thier feel even more velvety. Hewlett felt his body responding, and much to his own shock, he kissed back. Simcoe responded in kind, pushing his tongue into his mouth, mingling thier tastes together. 

Hewlett broke off the kiss. "Stop." 

In one moment, Simcoe released the restraints from the bedposts and grasped Hewlett's trousers, dragging him down to the floor, matching his struggle with equally powerful momentum. He tied a triple-knot around the foot of the bed, securing Hewlett's hands once more. "Did you know lamp oil is an incredibly versatile substance?" He brought down the lamp that set on the bedside table--it shattered to pieces. 

Hewlett writhed on the floor, trying desperately to put his knees underneath of himself. His hands were turning red from the ties. He shook in rage and screamed. "You will not do this, Simcoe!" 

"Please," came the retort. "We are about to know each other on a very friendly basis. Call me John." Hewlett felt Simcoe's nails scraping down his sides as he grabbed his trousers and pulled. In one motion, Hewlett's nakedness was revealed. Simcoe reveled in the sight of his rival's perfectly round, milky white buttocks. "You needn't be worried. I will treat you gently." He traced his injured hand down the curve of Hewlett's thigh, wrapping yet another tie around his manhood. "Just like a bride on her wedding night." 

Hewlett bucked, finally achieving traction between his knees and the hard wood floor. "If you do this---" Hewlett ground out. 

"Keep talking, my pretty doe." 

Simcoe kneeled over him, his stomach pressed tight against Hewlett's back. He reached over, smearing two injured, still-bloody fingers down the wall, collecting the spilled oil. 

It was something like a knife going into him. Even with the oil, Simcoe's fingers felt hot and sharp. They jabbed into his hole and opened him. Hewlett buried his face in his arm, hiding his cry. At this point, it would mean humiliation, disgrace, to be discovered like this. He would lose his title, his stature... He squeezed his eyes shut as a tear escaped and rolled down his face. 

"O-hush, now," Simcoe brushed the tear. It mingled with the dried blood on his fingers and formed pink streaks across Hewlett's cheekbone. Hewlett began fighting once more, and with each movement Simcoe drew his fingers in deeper. Simcoe's clean hand reached around his midsection, undressing Hewlett's manhood and stroking it softly. "Ah!", He gasped theatrically. "She doth protest too much." 

His arms began to shake and lose thier strength. Hewlett thought of home, of the quiet breezes and the soft sunshine. He lowered his head to the floor, and grasped hold of the tight binds. He could not give up. Not yet. Not ever. 

Simcoe parted the waist on his trousers and pushed them down to his kneestraps. Words were a waste of time at this point. He was throbbing and long and ready to claim his reward. There was no need for more oil---his trousers were wet with his own sweet nectar. "I've never done this before," he whispered and bit a line down Hewlett's neck. "You will have me well seasoned before this day is up." 

The pressure was immense. Hewlett felt as if his insides were being wrent in two. An unexpected stab of pleasure rocketed up his spine. His manhood immediately responded, despite the aching pain all over his body. "I will have you hanged for this," he moaned out. 

Simcoe thrust upwards, Hewlett swallowing him whole with every blow. Hewlett's muffled cries only spurred him onward. Simcoe was unable to hold back his own grunts, biting down on his rival's shoulder to drown his own voice. Hewlett coming down onto his cock was almost too much to bear. His eyes rolled back into his head to where only the whites were visible. Hewlett's tight, warm hole sucked the tip of his cock inward and squeezed down on his pulsating shaft. 

He grasped Hewlett's bound hands, forcing his fingers apart and clasping them with his own. "We are one, now, you and I---" He grunted between thrusts. 

"Delusional--ass--!" Hewlett managed. 

Simcoe brought a hand down and grasped Hewlett's member into a fist. "Come now," he flicked the head of his cock with his thumb. "Can't let you go without...I am a gentlemen, after all." 

Hewlett collapsed onto his side as the pleasure overtook him. Simcoe untangled his long legs from Hewlett's and brought one of Hewlett's legs up into the air, going deep inside him, getting lost in the euphoria of the new pressure and angle. Soon he felt Hewlett's cock pulsate inside of his closed fist and the warm, slick substance shoot out from in between his fingers. Hewlett's body shuddered and his insides clamped down tightly around Simcoe's cock. With a throaty growl , Simcoe released inside of his rival with one last thrust. He folded a leg and slid down to rest beside Hewlett, and the two became a shivering, panting pile. 

**********

Richard Woodhull carefully folded a parchment and laid it on Major Hewlett's desk, nodding. "It's a good idea to post a guard along the paths. As long as we can spare the men." 

Hewlett sighed. "At this point, Judge Woodhull, I'm afraid we have no choice." 

Woodhull smiled and extended his hand. "It's good to have you back once more, Major Hewlett." 

Hewlett shook it and forced a smile. "Yes. Well. It was...an unexpected absence." 

"Being ambushed at night by rebel soldiers? I should say so. But we know our Major. And you made it out alive." 

"Indeed." 

Woodhull tipped his hat as he headed out the door of the makeshift headquarters, bumping into the shoulder of a blue-clad soldier on his way out. He scowled a moment, then went on his way.

Simcoe sauntered in with his typical grin and closed one of the wooden fortress doors. "Welcomed back into the arms of the community after your second...most concerning...ordeal. How quaint." 

Hewlett continued scratching his feathered pen across the thick parchment. "You should have come earlier. Now I have a pressing matter to discuss with Corporal Kensig." 

Simcoe took off his hat and placed it over his heart. "My sincerest apologies." He bowed, turned on one heel and closed the remaining door. 

Hewlett set the pen down. "I said, you're too---" 

Simcoe crossed the distance in three quick strides and grazed thier lips together. He tipped Hewlett's chin to meet his gaze and smiled. Hewlett opened his mouth to protest but Simcoe pulled on the small strand of fabric protruding from his trousers, barely visible under his decorum. Hewlett shuddered. "Not to worry. Kensig is otherwise engaged for the moment."Simcoe kissed his mouth possessively. "As are you."


End file.
